Under His Control
by phoenixreal
Summary: AU: Ballet Yuuri Katsuki is injured and he believes his career is finished. To make him feel better Phichit decides he should take up a bit of pole dancing at a local strip club. To his surprise, his idol, the legend of the Russian ballet, comes in, and somehow ends up staying in his apartment. M/M, YAOI, first draft, BDSM, explicit, Yuuri/Viktor, Otabek/Yurio


**Chapter One**

 _Living Legend_

* * *

How did he end up like this? He'd been here the entire time, and yet, here he was and he still had no idea what exactly had happened to get to this point. Since this all began, months had passed, and Yuuri had gone from being at the end of his career to the top of it. Even though he'd experienced everything, even though he'd seen everything he still had no idea how he ended up like this.

Yuuri Katsuki stood and stared at the man kneeling at his feet and was having a hard time coming to terms with what he was saying. Viktor Nikiforov was looking up at him with those wide-open ocean blue eyes that could melt anyone's heart, and that alone was weird. What he had just said, though, had left Yuuri completely speechless.

"What?" he asked without understanding for certain what was happening.

"I want you to own me," he said, and Yuuri could hear the tremble to his voice. "I want you to beat me, humiliate me, whatever you want, just take me and make me whatever you want. I want to belong to you, Yuuri, more than anything in the world."

How did he end up here?

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

It all started when Yuuri's best friend, Phichit, had come to pick him up at the hospital after he was released. They shared an apartment in Los Angeles. The two had moved here to attend the state school while they worked with the Los Angeles Ballet company. It was an internationally renowned company, and they were said to be on par with some of the other world famous ballet companies. Only the best ended up here, and Yuuri had been the best. Then, the worst thing that could happen to a dancer happened to Yuuri. He was injured during a bad landing, and the doctors and physical therapists had said his knee was officially done for. There was nothing they could do for him from then on, and his entire future had evaporated just like that. He hadn't even tried calling the company to find out if there was a place for him.

Phichit had tried so hard to make him feel better, but Yuuri had enough trouble with his confidence before he lost the career he'd trained for since he was a five-year-old. He sat in his bedroom staring at the ballet posters and wanted to rip them down. He did rip a lot of them down, but he hesitated as he grabbed one with Viktor Nikiforov on it. He'd been his inspiration, his obsession, since his mother had bought him the first poster of him when he was twelve years old. The teenage Viktor had been everything to him, and he followed his career from then on. He had been complaining that boys didn't do dance, and his mom had showed him that boys could do ballet. So he worked harder, hoping one day to meet the Russian dancer.

He'd come to the US with his friend Phichit to work with some American dance groups, leaving his home of Japan behind. It was a way to get away from distractions of home, and a way to see new people. And it had been going well. Four years ago, he'd auditioned and been accepted to the Los Angeles Ballet.

Then he landed a jump wrong. One moment, and everything was gone. At twenty-five, his career was gone. He'd even danced on the same stage as his inspiration. He'd been in big production, and his name had been in lights.

It didn't matter, though, because he sat on his bed staring at the first poster of Viktor he'd ever been given, knee aching already and tears flowing down his cheeks. It was gone, every chance of even meeting him.

To make him feel better, Phichit had said that maybe he could try some other kind of dance besides ballet. After all, ballet was hard on the body and the joints, and the fact he was still in the spotlight at twenty-five was a miracle. He'd agreed, thinking that maybe he could do something else. Phichit's solution though, was far more embarrassing than Yuuri could have imagined.

"You want me to dance as a stripper?" he'd gasped staring at his friend.

"Why not? I come down and dance now and then," Phichit said with a grin as they stood in front of a large bar with the name The Rainbow Room in lights above it.

"You want me to strip at a gay bar?" Yuuri asked, still surprised.

Phichit snorted and led him into it. "Look, I bought you a mask, no one will know it's you, and you can let go and just have fun, okay?"

That was the first night. And once he put the mask on, Yuuri let go and when he stepped off the stage behind the curtain, he was panting and laughing. It had felt free. It had felt amazing. He turned the mask over in his hands and smiled. It was a white mask, a Kabuki mask, with a black stripe that went over the eyes, a pair of red, plump feminine lips, and a line extending from the corners of the mouth toward the edge on each side. They'd announced him as Wakadono at Phichit's request. The word meant "young master".

"Why the Kabuki thing?" Yuuri said as they left later that night, wondering where Phichit had even picked up a Kabuki mask.

Phichit smirked. "I don't know, just seemed to fit you. But you were great. I think Christophe will want you back."

"Christophe?"

"Christophe Giacometti. He owns that club. He's an interesting guy. I met him at a practice while you were in the hospital. Found out he used to be a dancer too," Phichit said. "Wait, hold up," he said as he paused to take a picture of himself against the outside of the bar.

Yuuri shook his head. He swore, Phichit took more pictures of himself than anyone he knew. They walked away, talking idly about this and that, and Yuuri felt a freedom he hadn't felt in a while. On that stage, with a mask hiding his identity, he felt free. Even on the ballet stage, with his face in the open, his anxiety threatened to consume him. It wasn't so much the attention, though he got plenty of that on the stage, it was the act itself that released him from his own mind. After the first night, he knew he'd go back.

So it started that way, and every weekend, he ended up working at the Rainbow Room, becoming a regular and eventually directly a staff member working for Christophe. There were a few other regular dancers but Yuuri became a favorite. His pole skills were easily the best after his years of training to be a dancer. Phichit danced now and then, but it became an essential part of Yuuri's life. During the week, he worked on finishing his master's program in fine arts, planning to become a dance instructor since he couldn't perform any longer. He supposed that if he couldn't dance, he could at least teach others.

Then he showed up and his whole world changed.

Yuuri had been back behind the curtain changing into his costume. He'd really taken the Kabuki theater theme and run with it, drawing from personal experience in Japan as well as embellishing it for his audience. His routine became what amounted to an erotic Kabuki performance. He still wore the same mask, and coordinated his colors around the red, black, and white theme. He'd been shrugging into the short kimono he'd had made when he heard the voice first and froze.

"Chris, I think it is lovely," the voice spoke nearby. The Russian accent was easy to pick up on. It wasn't thick, so the man who spoke obviously had a lot of practice speaking English.

"Yeah, I know, but why are you here? I heard you had left the ballet." Christophe answered and Yuuri could tell they'd come back behind the curtain to talk. The ballet? Someone from the Russian Ballet?

"I had to leave, _they_ made me a captain. I am too easy to pass borders with my fame, and it appeals to those above me."

"What? Are you here on _their_ business?" Chris's voice was shocked. "You told me you wanted out."

There was a long sigh. "I do but you don't leave them. My brothers would kill me for betraying them. I was...am…here on their business. But I've ducked them, and I'm trying to have some time to myself."

"Viktor…"

"I know, Christophe, I know. But I need time alone. I can't…"

"Fine, show time, go sit down, I'll bring you a drink. Vodka rocks still?" Christophe said with a sigh.

"Yes, thank you. Just a few days. That's all I need."

Yuuri couldn't see to tell, but what were the chances? He was being ridiculous. There was no way it was _the_ ballet dancer from Russia, Viktor Nikiforov. He wasn't even in the United States. There was no way. Was there?

Yuuri had gone on to perform as usual. The lights around the stage were bright, and he could never see much until he walked to the edge got closer to the patrons that sat close to it. By the end of the number, he'd collected his usual amount of bills, covered in sweat. Despite stripping most his clothes off, he usually ended up drenched. He spent much of his time on the pole, though, making the crowd gasp at his physical ability. Afterward, he came out from the back and stopped, staring at a table near the side of the stage.

It _was_ him. Viktor Nikiforov. He was sitting at a table, a suit and tie, and sipping a drink while he watched the next performer. Yuuri made his way to the bar and grabbed Christophe by the arm.

"Chris, that's…that's…" he stammered.

Chris looked at him then over where Viktor sat. "Oh, yeah, Viktor and I are old friends. Phichit said you were in ballet before you got injured. Would you like to meet him?"

Yuuri's voice could not be found as he was led numbly to the table with his idol. "Viktor, this is Yuuri. He's the one with the Kabuki mask," he said with a smirk, shocking Yuuri by revealing that he was he masked performer. That had been one of his agreements to work for him, that his identity be kept secret. Why would he… He knew. Phichit must have told him about his obsession with Viktor. "He blew his knee out but he was a professional ballet dancer until then."

Viktor looked up and smiled at him. "Yuuri? You dance well!"

"Yes, um, hi," Yuuri stammered with his eyes wide.

Christophe smiled. "Yuuri, can you keep Viktor company while I arrange a place for him to stay?"

Yuuri nodded numbly and sat down across from him. Viktor smiled at him again, those ocean colored eyes sucking in part of Yuuri's very soul. He was feeling overly dramatic, but still. "You have a lot of skill. What is your Lost name? Perhaps I've seen you if you've done much ballet professionally."

Yuuri swallowed. "I doubt it. I'm from Japan, Y-Yuuri Katsuki. I have done some bigger shows…but not as a headliner," he said and felt the flush to his face.

Viktor nodded. "I think I've seen the name, perhaps. Lately I haven't been doing much dancing," he said and sipped his drink. "I've grown too old, perhaps," he said and sighed. "Ballet is much of what I've done for the Lost twenty years, you see. Age takes its toll on us in the field."

There was a moment of quiet before someone slammed a hand down on the table startling Yuuri, but not Viktor. Yuuri looked up to see a very angry young man standing there with short blonde hair hanging in his face. He had a leather jacket over a cheetah print shirt.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in a fucking strip club, Viktor?" he growled.

Viktor looked up at him and smiled at Yuuri. "Yuri Plisetsky, meet Yuuri. Isn't that interesting, you have the same name almost."

"I don't give a fuck who this pig is. You are late for a meeting. So, get your lazy ass the fuck up and move," he growled.

Viktor sipped his drink and looked at Yuuri. "Yuri is a bit over exuberant about things."

"I'm not fucking over exuberant about anything. You get off your fucking ass and move, Nikiforov," he snarled before going to speaking Russian. Obviously, the English was meant for Yuuri's benefit. Viktor spoke to him back and forth a few times before he spun on his heels and stormed away again, the door slamming behind him.

Christophe came back looking concerned. "Viktor, if your…"

"Yuuri," Viktor said and leaned over with a pleading expression. "Can I stay with you? Yuri will come back and try to make me go back, and I don't want to go back yet. I want to stay with you."

"Go back to what?" Yuuri asked, confused by what he'd just seen.

"To my life, I just want to run away, can you help me?" Viktor asked him.

Of course, Yuuri couldn't turn Viktor Nikiforov down.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

"Yuuri, why can't I sleep in your room?" Viktor said as soon as they'd gotten back to the apartment he shared with Phichit.

Yuuri didn't want him to see the posters, for one thing, but for another, he couldn't imagine why he wanted to sleep in his room. Yuuri stared at him. Phichit would have picked this week to go on a trip home to visit his family. Granted, Phichit couldn't have known Viktor Nikiforov would show up at the strip club Yuuri worked with.

"B-because!" Yuuri managed as Viktor wandered around his living room. He was still getting over the fact that _the_ Viktor Nikiforov was in his living room.

"But Yuuri! I don't have Makkachin with me and I need to sleep _with_ someone!" he said with pleading eyes.

His dog. Yuuri sighed. He wanted his dog. "O-okay, just a minute, I have to clean up a mess in there, then I guess you can stay in with me if you have to…" he muttered. How did he end up in the position?

Viktor smiled broadly and practically looked like he was going to clap as Yuuri disappeared into his bedroom and leaned back against the door. He guessed he was Russian. Maybe Russians liked to sleep together like that? He had no idea, but he quickly snatched down the posters for the Russian ballet and the other posters he'd collected. He left a couple up, mostly the ones that were in general for ballet, and one for when Viktor headlined the Nutcracker. He slipped them under the bed and picked up a few empty water bottles and then opened the door. Viktor was still standing right there in front of it.

"Ah, okay, come in," he said. It was probably 2 am after all, he imagined that he was tired. Yuuri knew he was exhausted.

Yuuri grabbed his pajamas out of his drawer and went into the adjoining bathroom to change and brush his teeth. When he came back he found Viktor had already gotten into bed and sprawled completely across the middle. He had fallen asleep. Yuuri shook his head, noting that he was kind of cute, clutching the pillow in him arms with the cover pulled up to his ears. Yuuri slid in and laid on his side to look at him. Viktor moved and Yuuri realized something. He picked up the cover and peeked under it. His breath caught because Viktor was completely naked. He slept nude, and Yuuri had a perfect view of his back and ass.

Yuuri swallowed and dropped the cover, debating going to sleep in Phichit's room. Viktor Nikiforov was in his bed, naked, and asleep. How the hell did this happen?

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Viktor just had wanted to get away, that's all. He was tired and he was lonely and he wanted to never go home again. On the plane, Yuri had sat beside him, as usual, not speaking much. The younger man was his handler and bodyguard. Viktor Nikiforov was known as needing a handler. Yuri Plisetsky was on track to become a respectable member himself, and at the age of twenty-two, he was one of the finest knife wielders in their brotherhood. The jacket he wore was lined with ceramic throwing knives. They weren't as good as the metal ones he preferred, but they weren't detectable by most checkpoints. Yuri was also in the ballet with Viktor.

Really, the ballet was an easy way to cover their affiliation. Ballet dancers visited countries worldwide, and they made ideal contacts. Yuri and Viktor weren't the only ones, of course. There were others, but generally, they worked in pairs like this. The Bratva took care of its own, but it also didn't tolerate disobedience. Viktor had recently been made an Avtoritet, a captain, in charge of brigade that was trafficking information between the United States and Russia. Unlike other groups, Viktor's only "man" was Yuri, who doubled as his bodyguard as well as his handler.

Viktor's visit was to establish a presence in the United States. Viktor knew that the title of Avtoritet had been given to him only to keep him under control by dragging him into the brotherhood even deeper than before. Initially, he'd been pulled in to serve as a message boy on his trips to different countries with the ballet. Then, as he got older, and his days in the ballet of performing began to wane, they used Yuri to keep him. At twenty-seven, Viktor knew his days as a performer were numbered, and his coaches had slowly started shifting him to coaching the younger Yuri, both for the brotherhood and for dance.

Publicly, Viktor Nikiforov had come to the United States with his protégé, Yuri Plisetsky, as a promotional ballet exchange program with the Los Angeles Ballet. Once he got into the United States, though, he wanted to get away. He knew he couldn't get away forever, but maybe for a short time. It would be enough.

The dancer, though… Christophe had told him about him, and despite his attempt to seem nonchalant, he knew exactly who he was. Viktor had watched the young Japanese dancer closely over the Lost four years, thinking that surely he would end up vying for the position of top in the industry. Hearing that he'd been injured was a blow, because Viktor had hoped to see him dance in person. Then, to his surprise, Christophe said he was dancing, just not ballet.

Viktor hadn't been disappointed.

As morning dawned he nuzzled into someone's hair, and smiled. It had been a while since he'd slept in someone's bed, mostly because Yuri wouldn't let him. Viktor had always been rather needy when it came to sleeping, and found it difficult to sleep without another warm body near him. Back in St. Petersburg, his dog was his bedmate. When he traveled, though, he had no such help. He liked to be held, though, and finding someone to do it wasn't easy. Granted, it wasn't like he could easily engage in his preference for male partners at home. Not that he hadn't had his fun along the way, but he knew better than to be caught. Perhaps that was why he worried so much for Yuri. He was young, brash, and Viktor feared that he was going to reveal more than intended to the wrong person.

"No, don't move," he muttered, in Russian since he was half asleep.

"Vitya…" came a voice again and Viktor opened his eyes to see he was entangled in the Japanese dancer, Yuri's arms. He smiled, tightening his grip on his body.

"Hmm. I'm still sleepy," he said and sighed deeply.

"V-Viktor, you…you're naked. P-please let me go."

"I always sleep naked," Viktor answered, not bothered in the least by being naked in bed with Yuri.

He had almost fallen asleep against Yuuri's chest when he felt him pushing away. He blinked and locked eyes on Yuuri's gorgeous brown ones. He pouted. "Yuuri, you don't like to sleep with me?"

"Ah, Viktor, I just…I didn't expect…you…ah…" Yuuri said, finally scrambling away from Viktor and getting off the bed.

Viktor sat up, scratching at his platinum hair. "What's wrong, Yuuri?"

Yuuri stood at the door and stared at him. Viktor had the cover wrapped just barely around his waist and was sitting there sleepily. He looked at him and yawned before he stretched his arms over his head. "Do you have breakfast, I'm starving?"

Yuuri nodded. "I'll go make something," he said and escaped out the door.

Viktor watched him go and sighed. He supposed it was too much to ask to find comfort that easily. He needed something and he wanted to find it with Yuuri. He had no idea how to understand the other dancer. Christophe had been sure when he said that Yuuri was interested in him. But he wasn't acting interested. He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He just wanted to have someone give him the things he needed in his life.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Yuri Plisetsky stormed into the bar again. He slammed a fist on the bar and the man behind it turned to look at him in surprise. It was early, yet, only six. The taller man had dark hair and an undercut and Yuri had no time for anyone.

"Where the fuck is Nikiforov?" he growled.

"Aren't you a little young to be in a bar, kid?"

Yuri's eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, I'm twenty-two, asshole!"

"Otabek. Not asshole," he said in response with an arched brow.

"Whatever the fuck your name is, I need to find Viktor Nikiforov. Now. The fucker is nowhere to be found and he's my fuckin' responsibility!" Yuri snarled.

By far the most impossible part of working with Viktor was his tendency to disappear and fall in love with every pretty boy they came across. This time, though, Yuri thought it might be different. Viktor had talked about this Japanese dancer for years on and off. Now they meet and suddenly, Yuri can't find the fucker.

"I'm not sure who you're referring to," Otabek said with a shrug. "As you can see, though, it is far too early for anyone to be here yet. Maybe come back later when things get going?"

Yuri snorted. "I'm waiting."

Otabek watched him as he took up a position on a stool, apparently to wait. Yuri crossed his arms and put his head on them and seemed to have a permanently etched frown. Otabek smiled.

"You know, you're a bit too young to be so angry already."

"Fuck you," the young man responded.

"If you keep saying that, someone is going to take you up on it," Otabek said as he turned and put away the gLosses. "Especially around here. It is a gay bar, you know."

Yuri was silent for a while. "So this is like okay here."

Otabek looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"The gay thing. You Americans just…are out in public about it, and no one says anything."

"I mean, people say stuff, sometimes. I mean, there's people that don't like gay people. You get that anywhere you go. Homophobes and stuff," he said with a shrug, glancing at the frowning boy. "Why?"

"Viktor. He has to be careful. He tells me to be careful. Sometimes hiding something so big is hard, especially when you're well known like us," Yuri said, and sighed. He looked around at the employees milling about for night. "You can't be yourself."

"Maybe that's why Viktor disappeared. He just wants to be himself," Otabek said as he cleaned another gLoss and put it away. "Where are you from?"

"You don't know?" Yuri asked, sitting up and brushing his blonde hair from his eyes. "I mean, I thought it was obvious. We're Russian."

Otabek nodded. "I see, I heard that it is hard for you over there, when you're…rainbow colored." Otabek smirked at him.

"Fuck, Viktor's a goddamned neon rainbow," Yuri said with a sigh. Otabek sat a club soda down in front of him.

"And you?"

"I might…be of the darker colored rainbow, I don't like bright fucking colors," Yuri muttered.

"Do you have to go back to Russia?" Otabek asked as he watched the petite man sipping the soda.

Yuri paused. "I…don't know. We came here with the intent to stay for a while, so we won't go back soon. Viktor's my coach, and I'm with the Los Angeles Ballet as an exchange. They sent one of their dancers to the Russian ballet," he said with a shrug. "I don't know how long we'll be here, though. Not for sure. We have an apartment, but Viktor hated it, saying they'll watch us."

"Who?" Otabek asked, frowning as he put away a pitcher.

Yuri shook his head. "Not important…" he muttered. He straightened the leather jacket, feeling the hard ceramic of his knives against his sides. _Viktor, dammit,_ he thought. _You can't go running off like this. You're going to get us both in trouble._

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Yuuri watched as Viktor sat in the living room. They'd stayed in all day, mostly because Viktor said something about staying out of sight. Yuuri had decided to share some of his favorite movies with him. They'd spent the day watching several movies, most of which Viktor had seemed to enjoy. He hadn't said much, though, and Yuuri thought he seemed gloomy overall. He hadn't said anything about this morning, and somehow, Yuuri felt like he'd done something wrong.

Yuuri sat out dinner, and found Viktor standing at the window watching the sunset. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Viktor, um, I made dinner."

"Am I a bad person?" he said after another moment of silence.

Yuuri shook his head. "What?"

"I mean, what is it about me that people don't like? I've ignored my heart, so long, everything has focused on dance. So I guess I'm focused and aloof, they say so all the time. But this…" Viktor turned, and had pulled down the neckline of the t-shirt he wore where a circular tattoo rested. "This…makes me a bad person," he said, staring at it before releasing the neck of his shirt.

Yuuri stepped closer and shook his head. "Why would that be, Viktor? What does that mean?"

Viktor sighed. "I…I have so much, and I just want to let go, Yuuri. I just want to let go and I can't do it. I don't know how."

Viktor walked toward the sofa and dropped onto it. "Yuuri, when I was fifteen years old, and I was about to be on the biggest stage in Russia, then leaving a week later on a tour, a man came to me. I had been caught with one of the other dancers, a boy I knew I was in love with," he said with a smile. "As much as any fifteen-year-old knows love, but either way, a camera had caught us in the dressing room, and we'd been found out. The man gave me a choice. Well, it wasn't a choice. He said if I didn't do what he said, we'd both be turned out of the company, and perhaps worse." Viktor looked away wistfully. "Not for me, but for him, I agreed. The man, Yakov, told me that I would work for them. The Bratva. And what choice did I have?"

Yuuri had moved to sit down beside him now. "What is that?"

"Um, English…mafia?" he asked, thinking that was how Americans put it. "Yes, but they use performers, people that move in and out of Russia freely, to make deals and pass information all over the world. And now, they gave me responsibility, a position," he said and touched his chest. "It seems good, yes? But it isn't. They use Yuri, the blonde boy, because they know of his preferences too, and I have to keep him safe now, so I continue to do what they ask. But we are both here, both in America. So I want to run away from it forever, but…what if he does not want to run? And what if we run? Can we do it? I do not know. We're here for a long time, though, so maybe I can do what I am supposed to do…"

Yuuri had no idea why Viktor was telling him this. "Viktor, why would you say all this? We just met!"

"I have looked after you for years," he said and looked away. "I was hoping that I could coach you with Yuri once I came here."

Yuuri frowned and shook his head. "I can't dance any longer."

"But you can," Viktor said, turning his face toward him. "Of course, you can. No matter what they have said, you can still dance. You will have to alter your dance to suit your new ability, but I think you can learn, Yuuri. I know you can."

Yuuri stared at him. "But, I…"

Viktor smiled. "I came here to put Yuri in the Los Angeles Ballet. You belong to the same company. I can help choreograph your dances to suit the problems with your knee. It is only a matter of accommodating it."

"That…they aren't going to let me come back if I can't do the jumps and lifts!" Yuuri said with a frown.

"Nonsense. I am Viktor Nikiforov. I will convince them!" he said with a grin.


End file.
